


IFHY

by eggshellseas



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Biting, Choking, Face Slapping, Fighting As Foreplay, Fighting Kink, Frottage, Hair-pulling, Hate Sex, M/M, Pete doth protest too much, Roughness, Spit As Lube, Unsafe Sex, Wrestling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-24
Updated: 2019-11-24
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:55:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21540613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eggshellseas/pseuds/eggshellseas
Summary: Pete does not care about Roddy's handsome meathead face or ridiculous muscles, or even find Roddy that attractive anyway.
Relationships: Pete Dunne/Roderick Strong
Comments: 2
Kudos: 26





	IFHY

**Author's Note:**

> This is completely self-indulgent and probably of zero interest to anyone who is not me. Set directly after Takeover Toronto.

Pete's expecting Tyler and Trent to come find him after the show, so he doesn't think anything of the locker room door opening. He starts to turn around, though, when there's no greeting called out, but too late to ward off the arm that braces across his back and shoves him against the lockers. 

"You little - I should've had it," Roddy snarls into his ear. "I _ had _ you, and then-"

"You joking?" Pete snaps, cutting him off. He throws his weight backwards to get Roddy off of him, buying himself enough space to turn and glare. He's annoyed, but not particularly alarmed at the attack - Cole had barely been able to walk after his match, and O'Reilly and Fish had their own wounds to lick (if they weren't licking Adam's, that was), and Roddy all on his lonesome didn't cut a very intimidating figure.

"I had _ you_. If he hadn't stopped the ref, I'd have that title."

The point clearly lands, because Roddy takes a second to respond, and when he does he's even angrier. "You shouldn't have even been in the match! Why did you even stick your nose in? You couldn't put Walter away so you came running all the way to Florida? You just have to ruin things for me, huh?" He punctuates the rhetorical questions with little jabs at Pete's shoulder.

Pete stands his ground and does his best not to react beyond a sneer. He doesn't want to think about Walter, who had been in the audience to see him lose, probably without even a flicker of emotion, too cold for even a sense of schadenfreude at Pete's failure, but that doesn't make Roddy right about any of the shit he's spouting.

"You got scared off of your own brand, and now you think you can just waltz in here and do whatever you want?" Roddy continues. "Well we run things now. Undisputed Era runs this show, and no one wants you here."

They're practically nose to nose now, almost chest to chest. Pete hasn't been this close to Roddy outside of trying to escape a hold or pin him since Roddy turned on him. Pete doesn't want to think about that either - the part when they were working together, anyway, when Roddy got one over on him; he's perfectly happy to remember how much he hates Roderick Strong.

"No one tells me what to do," Pete says, clipped and haughty, "least of all you."

Roddy barks out a short, scoffing laugh. "It's sweet, really, you're so hung up on me," he says condescendingly, "but get over it, and stay out of my way."

And that's not - that's not what was happening _ at all. _ Pete hadn't shown up at Full Sail to pick a fight with Roderick; he'd just seized the opportunity for a good entrance. If that moment _ also _ happened to screw Roddy over, well, that was just a bonus.

"Shouldn't you be off changing Cole's bedpan or something?" Pete asks with every possible ounce of disdain.

"You're so funny, Peter," Roddy says. He lifts an arm and presses his hand against the locker right next to Pete's face, and then leans in even closer, clearly about to follow up with more sarcasm, but Pete knocks his arm away and pushes Roddy back before he can fall forward. Roddy manages to grab onto his shirt, and he jerks Pete along with him, hooking his ankle behind Pete's to unbalance him. So practiced that it seems automatic, Roddy drops to one knee and uses the grip on Pete's shirt to bring him down into a modified backbreaker over his bent leg.

It knocks all the air out of Pete's lungs. He flops onto his back on the floor. It takes a second to refocus, by which time Roddy has straddled his hips to keep him where he is. For the first time since he'd come barreling in, Roddy looks unsure of himself, probably not having planned on an actual physical altercation. Pete takes the opening to throw a punch, catching Roddy's ear.

"Ow, Jesus!" Roddy yelps, sounding almost as offended as pained, and then he grabs a handful of Pete's hair and knocks Pete's head against the floor, not very hard, but enough to keep him slightly dazed. Roddy's fingers stay tangled in his hair, twisting tighter and tighter until Pete's scalp is burning and his chin tips up to try and alleviate some of the pressure.

Roddy's good at zeroing in on painful spots to target, Pete will give him that, and he's always, from their very first match, been willing - _ eager_, even, to exploit the length of Pete's hair. Right from the start he'd been obnoxious and cocky and too familiar with the way he put his hands on Pete, and-

Pete's train of thought gets derailed when Roddy wrenches his head back farther, and then they're glaring at each other again.

"Your stupid long hair, and your dumb accent," Roddy mutters, "Should've just stayed away - why the fuck are you here?" 

"Shut up," Pete snarls, "Shut _ up_, you prick." He shoves a hand under Roddy's shirt and digs his fingers into Roddy's ribs as hard as he can. Roddy growls and pushes the heel of his free hand under Pete's chin. His thumb stabs a sharp point of pain on Pete's jaw, and his first two fingers press Pete's bottom lip down into his teeth as they slip inside his mouth.

"I know it's not a belt," Roddy says, breathless and taunting, "But you wanted something in your mouth, didn't you?"

And not that Pete thought very highly of Roddy's intelligence to begin with, but of all the stupid ideas. Pete bites him, of course, and thinks maybe he breaks the skin with the slight taste of copper he's left with after Roddy hurriedly pulls his hand back.

"Psycho," Roddy says sullenly, using the hem of his shirt to wipe his fingers off. Pete smirks up at him smugly and licks his lips.

Roddy actually manages to surprise him then when he ducks his head and bites Pete's neck. "See how you like it, bitey little son of a bitch," he says, and then does it again, his teeth fixed on the side of Pete's throat as he shakes his head like a dog with a toy. 

Pete _ does _like it, is the thing, and Roddy's flushed face suggests he does too. His mouth follows the path of a tendon down to the juncture of Pete's neck and shoulder, the soft, almost ticklish pressure giving Pete entirely unwelcome goosebumps. Pete slaps him in retribution just as Roddy's chosen the next spot to sink his teeth into, which means it's technically Pete's own fault when Roddy's jaw snaps shut and he nearly tears through the skin above Pete's collarbone, but Pete's still willing to hold it against him.

So sudden it's almost like an electric shock, Roddy jerks Pete's shorts down, just far enough that Pete's cock is freed to bob between them. It feels like an incrimination, even if Roddy maintains eye contact in a challenging stare instead of looking down to see Pete's erection. Pete goes to slap him again, just because smacking Roddy in the face is so satisfying, but Roddy catches his wrist. 

"Goddamnit, will you just," Roddy huffs, then makes a noise of frustration, apparently not sure how he wants to finish the request. He starts shifting from one knee to the other as he tugs both their clothes down, a decidedly awkward endeavor. Pete doesn't make any effort to cooperate, but he doesn't put a stop to it either. He does look when Roddy wriggles out of his underwear, and there's some small sense of victory in confirming they've both gotten hard from the tussling, or at least relief that it's not something Roddy can use against him.

After an attempt to flip him onto his stomach that Pete thwarts by locking his legs around Roddy's waist, Roddy balances on one forearm and reaches down for his cock with his other hand, fumbling as he tries to get it lined up with Pete's ass. Pete feels his breath catch at how quickly things have escalated to this, but then, he and Roddy had always been no holds barred. He could put Roddy in a Kimura lock from where he is, or, with just a little wriggling, a triangle choke. He _ could_. He doesn't.

Roddy's clearly waiting for some kind of reaction, the tip of his cock butting gently against Pete's hole, almost like impatient finger tapping.

It wouldn't be the craziest thing he's ever done, probably. He _ does _ have the frustration of losing to burn off, and it's not like he cares what Roddy thinks of him. He's absolutely not giving Roddy the satisfaction of asking for it though, so he just gives an exaggerated shrug and uses his heels to push Roddy forward slightly.

There's probably something around they could use, but Pete knows if they stop to look for lube there's no way he'd let Roddy continue. That would be too much like making a deliberate decision to do this, but that also means there's just precum and a little sweat easing Roddy's entrance. 

Roddy's eyes keep darting up to Pete's face, cagey and tense, like he's afraid this is some kind of trap. They both jolt when the head pops inside, Pete's spine instinctively curving as he tries to climb his legs up Roddy's torso, like making himself smaller will somehow lessen the hurt. Roddy presses his advantage, pushing up onto his toes to roll Pete's hips up completely off the floor, getting himself a downward angle to work his cock deeper in little stutter-starts against the resistance of Pete's body.

They're both sweaty with the effort of it. The drag of Roddy's cock against the tender skin of his hole feels almost like rope burn. Luckily for Pete, Roddy's dick is proportional to the rest of him, otherwise there's no way he could take it like this without tearing something. Roddy pauses to wet his fingers in his mouth and then rubs where they're connected. It's enough to let him slide in another inch, and to make Pete gasp shakily on an inhale. Finding the smug satisfaction that flashes across Roddy's face at that completely unacceptable, Pete threads his fingers through Roddy's hair and uses both hands to jerk his head back, making him bare his throat. Roddy's skin is fever hot and flushed with exertion. Pete sets about turning it an even brighter shade of red by scraping his teeth along the underside of Roddy's jaw and all down his neck.

Roddy curses as his balance teeters and he has to drop back down to his knees. It undoes most of his progress, but he's quick to recoup, spitting on his fingers again and stroking up the underside of his cock to the rim of Pete's asshole as he shoves back in, and everything about it feels _ filthy. _ Pete spares a second to acknowledge that letting Roddy go in raw probably makes him an idiot, but it certainly makes things less painful, and, even if it shouldn't, it also makes his stomach clench with the dirty thrill of it.

Pete drops one arm to the floor so he can lean back on his elbow and brace himself to push back against Roddy's humping. Roddy's still got his hand down between Pete's buttocks, swirling through any moisture he can get off Pete's skin and then pushing his fingertips in alongside his cock. They barely dip inside, but it still makes Pete feel stuffed over full and stretched too wide.

He gets a brief reprieve when Roddy sits back on his heels for a moment and pulls his shirt off. Pete's surprised it took him this long considering how Roddy seems to hate wearing them in general. He's still got his stupid dog tags on, and they jingle against his chest as he flexes his pecs like that might impress Pete, like Pete could possibly give a shit about his handsome meathead face and ridiculous muscles. Pete categorically _ does not care_, or even find Roddy that attractive anyway.

Roddy catches Pete glaring at the tags and smirks. "Wait'll I tell the boys about this," he says, waggling his eyebrows.

"I'll kill you," Pete snarls, falling immediately into fight mode, throwing his elbow to jam the point of it into Roddy's sternum. He has to lift up into a crunch to do it, and when he tenses his lower body to counterbalance, it makes him inadvertently clench around Roddy's dick in a way that feels tremendous. 

It apparently does something for Roddy too, because he drops his torso down onto Pete's chest despite the obstacle of Pete's arm, and smothers a moan against Pete's shoulder. Pete pushes up with his forearm so he can see Roddy's reaction when he does it again, deliberately this time, pulling his sphincter tight. Roddy makes a pathetic wheezing noise and scrabbles for Pete's wrists, throwing his weight into pinning Pete's arms to the floor. Pete could swear he feels Roddy's cock twitch inside him, or maybe it's his own muscles spasming, but either way it causes a slow wave of pleasure to roll through him

"Relax," Roddy says, his voice strained. "Like I'd really want-" he trails off into a ragged groan, and his eyes scrunch closed. He then has the gall to say, "Seriously, relax, feels like you're gonna pinch my dick off," and squeeze Pete's hip in an almost friendly manner, and, _ God _, Pete wants to punch him again, in the nose this time; he's insufferable. 

Before Pete can follow through on that plan, Roddy hooks his arm under Pete's leg and pulls it up over his shoulder. It gets Pete's hips tilted up again, but leaves Roddy's hands free, and, as Pete realizes when Roddy gives an experimental thrust, finds him a position that rubs his cock right over Pete's prostate. Pete's _ almost _ impressed by the show of technical skill.

Naturally, Roddy immediately spoils any goodwill he might have garnered. "You know, I never did tell them how easily you put out," Roddy says, _ smiling _ like they're just pals reminiscing over a pint. "That can be our special memory," he finishes, and then pats Pete's cheek patronizingly.

It hits Pete like a lariat, the sudden slam of memories he's been avoiding.

After their victory in the semi-finals of the Dusty Rhodes Classic, Roddy had been like an excited puppy, and Pete was starting to crack, just a little, under the force of Roddy's enthusiasm, caught up in the endorphins and adrenaline of winning.

Somehow Roddy's touches to his leg and his hair led to Pete going back to Roddy's shitty apartment. Pete had jerked him off while Roddy held his face in his hands and murmured, "Fuck, that's good," in between deep, sloppy kisses. He'd returned the favor afterward, stretched out on his side and propped up on one elbow, stroking Pete's dick with his other hand and looking down at him with a smarmy smile.

Pete's fingers dug into the sheets and his toes curled, and after he'd come all over his stomach, Roddy had smeared it into his skin and bent down to kiss him again.

_ Worse, _he'd fallen asleep with Roddy's arm tossed casually over his chest and woken up spooning him. They hadn't talked about it.

Then the next week after the attack from Cole and O'Reilly, Pete had been burning up with anger, and Roddy had been so _ concerned _ about him. They'd been so in sync in the ring, and ironically it was the Undisputed Era that made Pete feel like Strong really had his back. They really had made a good team - maybe that was the worst part.

Or maybe the worst part was that night Roddy fucked him from behind in the shower, but only after he'd run his hands all over Pete, as if to reassure himself Pete wasn't injured, and only after he'd kissed and bitten Pete's mouth raw. He kept his face close to Pete's the entire time, nuzzling and licking the back of his neck, behind his ear, his lips occasionally brushing Pete's cheek.

"Bet you're glad you teamed up with me now, huh, kid?" Roddy had said with a playful grin while they were toweling off. Pete remembers rolling his eyes, but also smiling reluctantly, just a little, when Roddy wasn't looking.

Pete didn't - _ doesn't _want to know if Roddy had already known then what he was going to do at Takeover. It didn't really matter; he couldn't possibly hate Roddy more than he already did.

As unwelcome as the reminder of their past is, the white-hot anger that it brings up is its own kind of aphrodisiac, something dark and feral. 

Roddy's busy adding another application of saliva, totally unprepared for it when Pete grabs him by the throat. His look of surprise, and the shudder that runs through him both taste like power. Roddy licks his lips nervously, but when Pete doesn't do anything besides keep his hand where it is, he starts moving again. The thrusts are a little smoother now, but there's still too much friction for him to bottom out. Pete squeezes threateningly whenever Roddy goes too deep or hard. Roddy's a little slow on the uptake, arrhythmic and random in his strokes, testing what makes Pete's grip tighten, until Pete finally sees it dawning on his face, and then Roddy's all but foaming at the mouth in anger at the realization of the leash Pete has effectively put him on.

Pete grins. He'd hate to have Roddy thinking he's in charge after all.

"Letting me fuck you where anyone could walk in, see you with my dick in your ass, such a slut," Roddy says tightly against the pressure Pete's putting on his wind pipe, clearly trying to wrest back some control.

"All they'd see is you blacking out," Pete grits back, fingers flexing to illustrate the possibility.

Roddy tries to rear back and out of his hold, but Pete follows, his other hand joining the first on Roddy's throat. Roddy's next counter is to go low, pressing down against him, which pushes Pete's thigh back towards his chest with his arm caught between. It slightly hampers Pete's ability to breathe, and as Roddy keeps pushing at the back of his knee, his hamstring starts to tweak. It's uncomfortable, but not any more than the burn of Roddy's cock inside him, not even close to the limit of what Pete can handle, and certainly not enough to make him relinquish his hold.

Roddy keeps fucking him through all of it, grinding his dick into Pete, a staccato, shallow back and forth that mercilessly assaults Pete's sweet spot, like Roddy's just as dead set on making Pete come as he is on making the rest of it as unpleasant as possible. It's certainly not the best fuck Pete's ever had. It's maybe not even _ good_, but it's still scratching an itch just perfectly.

"Come in me and I'll tear your balls off," Pete tells Roddy when he recognizes the slack-jawed look on his face that means he's close. Pete _ hates _that he recognizes it.

Roddy looks taken aback for a second, and then his eyes narrow. "Fuck you," he chokes out. His thrusts speed up, even as Pete tightens his grip. His hips are slamming into him hard enough to push Pete across the floor in little bursts. It _ hurts_, but it's also enough to finally fuck Pete's muscles into submission. He feels his body go lax around Roddy's cock, and the heady relief of being able to stop making a conscious effort to _ let _himself get fucked, and just get fucked. 

Sadistic amusement curls through him as Roddy's face gets redder. Roddy's fucking him like it's a race, like he's trying to beat the clock, like finishing inside Pete is that important to him. Pete doesn't know if Roddy really would despite him saying no. He doesn't think so, but then again he hadn't thought Roddy would stab him in the back either. That shadow of uncertainty, of risk, however minimal it might actually be, is more of a turn on than Pete would really like to admit.

The need for oxygen ultimately wins out. Roddy pounds his fist on the floor, drops Pete's leg, and pulls back, his dick tugging cruelly on its way out. Pete has to bite back a groan at the sudden emptiness. He lets Roddy's throat go and almost, _ almost _ tells Roddy to keep fucking him, but he's not that stupid, and Roddy doesn't deserve to get to anyway.

Roddy covers him again, shifting to rub their cocks together. Pete grabs Roddy's ass with one hand and pulls him in, dragging his nails down Roddy's back with the other. Roddy's panting right in Pete's face, his nose brushing Pete's cheek, almost like the last time they'd fucked, only now they're face to face, and Pete could kiss him, except that he's never, _ ever _kissing Roderick Strong again. Roddy's stupid Ken doll hair is curling in his eyes, and he bites his bottom lip around a gasp as he comes.

The added slickness glides Pete's cock into the absurdly well-defined crease of Roddy's pelvis. The scent of Roddy's cum and sweat fills his nostrils as he ruts against Roddy's hip. Roddy's whole body is plastered to him, and it's too much closeness, especially when Roddy's mouth lands on his throat again, back where he started all this, sucking hard enough to leave a mark. Pete's caught between relief that Roddy's not watching his face and irritation at the thought he's going to have a bruise that Tyler and Trent will tease him for and that he'll have to lie about. 

However he may feel about it mentally, physically it proves to be exactly what he needs to push him over the edge. Pete stuffs his knuckles into his mouth when he comes to keep himself quiet, and so he can't do anything _ truly _ foolish, like forget himself and try to kiss Roddy. Not that he has any desire to, but the extra insurance can't hurt.

Roddy slumps on top of him once Pete's finished, his firm abs doing an outstanding job of spreading the mess between their stomachs. Before Pete can push him off, Roddy taps a three count on the floor above Pete's shoulder. Pete growls in disgust and shoves him off a lot rougher than he'd originally intended as Roddy laughs like a hyena.

Pete gets his payback by using Roddy's discarded UE shirt to wipe off and then throwing it at him. Roddy catches it reflexively, then makes a face and drops it. 

"How about you keep that as a souvenir?" He says, kicking it back towards Pete's feet. "Take it back to the lame version of NXT with you."

Pete very deliberately steps on the shirt as he moves closer to Roddy. His lip curls into a sneer as he gives Roddy a withering look up and down. "I'm not going anywhere," he tells Roddy icily, "And even_ if _you get that title, you'll know that I could take it from you anytime I wanted. You can't beat me one on one. You never have, and you never will."

The ugly scowl souring Roddy's face as Pete leaves is almost as satisfying as the orgasm. All together he does feel a lot better about the match. Maybe Roddy's not _ completely _ useless. 

Pete still hates him though.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [tumblr ](http://eggshellseas.tumblr.com) where sometimes I make wrestling gifs and would love to talk about horrible Pete Dunne ships.


End file.
